The Pity Party
by Hero's Chanson
Summary: "Roy was right about something: it had made Dick happy. Saccharinely so. When they were done, he joined the audience in laughter and looked at Jason with those stupid sparkling blue eyes. If Jason were completely honest with himself, it was that look he had wanted to avoid that night. He hated that look." Companion to "The Seventy-Third"!


Jason sighed as the marble stair swayed in and out of focus. He glanced over at the blurry railing and clutched onto it with his left hand while balancing with his right. He carefully tried to step over the plastered twenty-somethings from Dick's college. Man, if he was having trouble just walking straight, he couldn't imagine how much they had had to drink.

Alfred had insisted on Jason's spending the night, if not to sleep off the alcohol, then for the familial bonding and crap. He didn't actually say that out loud, but Jason could read it in his eyes; Alfred never was a very good liar.

Jason had almost accepted the offer, too — almost. But just the thought of waking up in his childhood bedroom, of walking down to the dining room for breakfast, of taking his rightful place beside Barbara and across from Tim, of making small talk and smiles while avoiding eye contact with the head of the table — well, awkward didn't begin to describe it.

So Jason opted to leave early. It was a feat on Roy Harper's part that he had even stayed this long. All night, the guy talked him into staying, just when Jason thought he was done with it all.

"C'mon," Roy had said, "you can't leave before he opens the _presents_."

Jason _hmph_ed but leaned deeper into the wall. "Did you even get him anything?"

"Of course I got my best bud something for his birthday," Roy said, aghast that Jason would suppose otherwise. "But if I told you what it was, you wouldn't have a reason to stay."

Jason ignored the "best bud" comment. "Always with the mind games, I see."

Roy shrugged. He downed the rest of his champagne and set the glass down on a cafe table. "Stay. Mingle. At least _pretend_ you're happy for your brother's party." He clapped Jason on the back once and disappeared into the crowd.

"Mingle. Huh," Jason pouted. He pushed off from the wall, wondering how to do just that when Barbara took the spot next to him.

"Hey," she said, breathlessly. She gave him a warm smile and starting fanning her flush away.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked with a smirk.

"I should be asking _you_ that." She elbowed him. "You've been a bench warmer all night."

Jason shrugged. "Never really liked parties. Not even my own."

Barbara blinked. "Really? Why not?"

How could he in five minutes explain the stupidity of inviting a whole slew of people you hardly keep in touch with to your own home to pretend you're all happy and that no one is going to return to their miserable little lives waiting with baited breath for the next party invitation? Or the insanity of choosing one arbitrary day out of all three hundred and sixty-five of them to celebrate the moment some woman opened her legs and pushed you out — through no volition, no contribution of your own? If birthdays were more than vanity fairs, were truly about cherishing life, then why the pomp and flare? Why not do something to prove you're alive? Jason just didn't get it.

"Too many people," he said simply.

"Hm," Barbara said as she took a glass of water from a passing server. "More like too many of the wrong people." She looked expectantly at him as she took a sip.

"Yeah," he replied slowly, "I guess."

He looked at the dance floor just as Barbara reached down to pick up something she dropped and caught Kori approaching. She smiled coyly at Jason but froze when she saw Barbara. Kori abruptly turned and walked over to Dick, who was posing for a picture, on the other side of the room.

Barbara looked up in time to see Jason's confused expression. She followed his gaze and saw Kori kiss Dick rather platonically on the cheek.

Jason exchanged a glance with Barbara, and she blushed a little. "Too many of the wrong people indeed."

Barbara left to go speak with the Commissioner, who had just finished talking to Bruce. Jason, who was tracking Barbara's progress across the room, thus naturally met Bruce's eye.

Immediately, Jason's chest tightened under pressure of that familiar turmoil of different levels of anger. It was a warm, sickly-sweet resentment, whose taste Jason often had to chase away with something strong to even consider going back to sleep. Only when his thoughts were properly muddled could he forget why he was so upset to begin with.

Unfortunately, the champagne was the strongest thing available. He turned and walked away from Bruce to the nearest server and grabbed another glass. It didn't work. Instead, Jason started wondering why Bruce hadn't said anything about his drinking; he was underage, after all, and he could just hear him: "No son of _mine_ will break the law under my roof (beyond what's necessary, of course)."

He couldn't help but think that had Bruce spotted Tim brandishing his flute earlier, the kid would've been in for the lecture of his life. So why was Jason exempt? Special treatment; it just came with the territory of being the prodigal son. Or maybe Bruce just didn't give a —

"Jason!" Tim chirped as he bounced over. The kid was clearly tipsy; he looked positively ecstatic to see him. "There you are." Without a word, Tim grabbed his elbow and dragged him across the room.

"Tim — hey! — the fuck are you —?!" Jason could barely get a word as Tim marched him literally through the crowd.

"We needed a fourth guy for the song!" Tim said, answering the unspoken question.

"Song?" Jason said, wondering how likely he could get away with breaking his glass over Tim's head.

"Yeah! Me, you, Dick, and Roy are gonna do 'We Are Young' for everyone. You know it?" He released Jason — finally — and gave him a scrutinizing glare.

"Well, yeah, but I'm not gonna —!"

"Oh, come on, Jason," Roy said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He leaned in close and whispered, "It'll make Dick really happy."

Jason shoved him away and folded his arms. "What do I care?"

Roy was dauntless. "For one, you can go back to your little corner afterwards and no one will bother you."

If only he had known that Roy was totally wrong about that, but at the time, the potential gain was tempting. Still, all those people watching him do an impromptu performance with three of the most insufferable guys he knew…

Jason shuddered at the memory (although the cold certainly had something to do with it). Of course, he tried to go through with it. And Roy was right about something: it had made Dick happy. Saccharinely so. When they were done, he joined the audience in laughter and looked at Jason with those stupid sparkling blue eyes.

If Jason were completely honest with himself, it was that look he had wanted to avoid that night. He hated that look. It had the unrelenting power to make him feel like a kid again — and that was the last thing Jason needed. Besides, he had endured that enough when Dick kept thanking him once they got back to the manor.

"Can't believe you did all that for me," Dick had said softly as they climbed the foyer stairs.

"It was their plan," Jason mumbled. "I just liked the idea of kicking your ass. Again."

"But still...thanks." Jason could practically hear it, that damn heart-wrenching, cavity-inducing, I-want-you-to-know-just-how-much-I-love-you look.

"Whatever. God, you're annoying." Jason shook his head, willing the blush away, and continued down the hall to his old room. He paused to look further down as Dick entered his and caught the little smile he gave himself. Jason groaned. It was almost just as bad.

Before Jason knew it, he was approaching the city. He stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the light, not trusting himself to jaywalk, even if it was two in the morning and there was no traffic.

He saw a few loose manholes and debris from Poison Ivy's rampage and smiled. He'd be the first to admit he had gotten a little carried away with the distraction gambit, but how could he not with such vague direction?

Tim had had the genius idea of crashing one of his evening patrols a few weeks back. Despite his rather colorful reassurances that he didn't need help, Robin had tactfully incapacitated the henchmen so Jason could catch the coward of a drug lord. As loath as Jason was to admit it, he owed Robin one.

"What do you want?" he demanded once they were on a remote rooftop three blocks away from the crime scene.

"Can't brothers just drop in on each other from time to time without wanting something?" Robin said, lazily reclining on a gargoyle.

"Not brothers like mine," Jason bit back.

Robin cocked an eyebrow. "_Touché_. Look, I need your help with something."

"Figures."

"Babs and I are throwing a surprise party for Dick," he began, "and we need you to lure him to Gotham."

Jason blinked. "That's _it_?"

"What d'you mean, 'that's it'?" Robin said, standing. "This is very important!"

"Not to me." Jason hopped to his feet and turned to leave.

"Typical Jason, not giving a damn about anyone else, even his own family."

Jason growled and kicked Robin's leg out from under him. "Because you all have done so much for me."

"Hey," Robin said from the ground, arms splayed, "we can compare sob stories at the party. Just…think about it at least."

Jason said nothing but didn't stop Tim from leaving. He didn't want to think about what brought him to Barbara's apartment a week later, but there he was, silently offering his services to the _ad hoc_ planning committee. And by God, Tim had the audacity to look surprised.

Another week later, Jason was finally given the order "Lure him here." The last few days, he had concocted a plan to choke three birds in one vine. He was sure Bruce, who had been content to watch the planning from afar, wouldn't approve — then again, what else would have been new? — so he kept the details to himself, telling the others only to "Be ready."

After releasing Ivy, the only villain who'd have been sympathetic to his cause and for whom he actually felt sorry, Jason stalked the south bay awaiting the telltale roar of Nightwing's motorcycle.

Jason had barely managed to contain himself when he landed quietly behind Dick. If he had tried hard enough, he could've actually snuck up on Nightwing. Unfortunately, his job required the other's attention.

But when Nightwing had swiveled around like that, something clicked into place for Jason. Echoes from their previous skirmish resounded in the night, and Jason had to really restrain himself from going all out. He instead attempted a cool demeanor.

"Reflexes sharp as ever, Nightwing," he said, as if Dick's presence was barely a nuisance. That ruffled him for sure. "Give 'em an inch," he said nonchalantly, to add insult to injury.

"Why, Red?" Nightwing called.

Jason knew Dick didn't really expect a response. Instead, he casually tossed a few throwing knives at him — just to keep him intrigued. Jason almost laughed as Dick lunged for him, but he settled for dodging. "Not so fast. I have important business to attend to first." He dashed off, slowly enough for Nightwing to follow but not enough to be caught.

Jason wasn't lying about the important business part of his taunt. Awesome multitasker that he was, he had more priorities than just luring Dick to the manor and pissing off Bruce. No; trumping both of those was his mission to take down Gotham's largest toxic waste and water pollution contributor. Wayne Enterprise was battling them the legitimate way, but that was taking entirely too long. Besides, the name that he stole came with the vendetta: destroy Ace.

So, imagine how irritated Jason, armed with his righteous mission, was to find Nightwing pinning him to the roof. He could practically feel Dick's sense of triumph at having caught the Red Hood, and that only bothered Jason more. He went still, confusing Nightwing for a moment — all he needed to invert their positions. He didn't get to enjoy it for long. Moments later, he was flying by no will of his own over the edge of the roof. He quickly grabbed hold of the fire escape and managed to scramble back to the ledge just as Dick leaned over to look for him.

Jason smirked to himself. He knew he was supposed to be letting Dick chase him, but the opportunity was just too perfect. He grabbed his ankle and pulled himself up before pushing Dick over. He crouched down, correcting Nightwing's mistake by keeping his feet out of reach, and said "You care too much, Dickie."

Jason ran off to Ace, noting that Ivy's vines were weakening. He both admired and begrudged Batman's quick thinking to his little stunt, but tried not to let it bother him. Instead, he jumped into the main laboratory and headed to the supercomputer.

"Come in, Red," Tim said over the comm in his helmet.

"What?" Jason began downloading the lab's pet project.

"Status update."

"Halfway through midtown. Be there soon."

"Only halfway? You were supposed to be —"

"I said I'll be there soon." He severed the link in time to hear Nightwing enter through the same window. "Oh, don't mind me, Nightwing," he said nonchalantly. "Just finishing this up…there." He pressed 'Enter' with an air of finality. Not two seconds later, the building trembled.

"The hell did you do?" Nightwing demanded.

Jason shook a finger. "If you wanna know, you'll have to catch me," he replied in a sing-song voice before running out of the room. The chase continued quite well, especially since Jason felt lighthearted at having successfully completed all his objectives. All but one.

He deactivated the false wall. "Now, be a good boy and follow me," he said once Dick was inside. Jason was eternally grateful Dick had kept his domino on. He hadn't then steeled himself to deal with that look.

Jason looked up. A few troublesome clouds hung over his apartment building, but otherwise the night was clear, the stars bright. This would have been the perfect night to stargaze after a regular patrol, a not-quite futile attempt to reclaim some of his normalcy. But he traded it in for a night in a manor full of memories, drinking enough to be drunk but not nearly enough to be numb, and constant waltzes into and out of awkward situations without ever leaving the wall. As Jason fumbled around for his keys, he was trying to remember why he willingly did this.

And then he saw his entertainment system. Oh. Right.

That past Gotham August had set records for high daytime temperatures, and the nights weren't much better. Jason had ditched the helmet for that evening's patrol. He mopped his brow as he watched the thugs below begin their trade. He was waiting for the deal to go sour — after all, the Albanian mafia wasn't known for its patience — to clean up the survivors and take the loot. An average Thursday for the Red Hood.

However, just when the thug with the briefcase pulled out his rifle, a metallic projectile knocked it out of his hand. Jason cursed and traced the trajectory back to its owner, fully expecting to see that damn flowing cape. Instead he saw a streak of blue as Nightwing jumped down to attack.

Despite his surprise, Jason was content to watch Dick handle the situation. Besides, if he kept his presence secret, he could still collect the cash after. But of course, the guy with the briefcase managed to run off, and Nightwing was still preoccupied with dodging bullets. Jason sighed and went after the guy. It didn't take long.

"Red?" Jason heard Dick call from across the courtyard. "What're _you_ doing here?"

Jason rolled his eyes. "That's my line. Blüdhaven's about fifteen miles that way." He jabbed his thumb behind him.

"I was hunting down some local gangsters." He cocked his head to the side. "You know, you kinda look _better_ without the helmet."

Jason _hmph_ed and returned his attention to the briefcase. He opened it, quickly counted the bills, and picked it up. "Well," he said. "It's been real."

"Wait — Jason!" Dick began running after Jason. "You can't take that."

"Says you." Jason took off, loving that he was faster than Dick, if only slightly.

Nightwing pursued him anyway. Jason had to maneuver through some new alleys he figured Dick didn't know to lose him. When he did, he chuckled softly and headed back to his apartment. On the way, he made his routine stop by the local gadget store. It was closed, but that didn't stop Jason from window shopping through the bars. He made a mental note of the item he wanted next: that brand new, backwards compatible, 32 gig game console. Sure, he could have gotten it already from any gadget store in the city, but the owners, a retired married couple, were kinder than any of those tech geeks. And they could really use the money.

"Finally," someone said from behind him. He felt him press lightly against him and push something blunt against his neck. Jason caught the window's reflection and groaned when he saw Nightwing. "You let your guard down, Jay. Hand over the money."

"Fuck you," he retorted, tightening his grip on the case. That earned him a kick, and suddenly Jason was on the ground with a knee in his chest.

"What were you even staring at?" Dick looked into the window and started laughing. "For real?" He turned back to Jason. "You're such a _kid_."

Jason growled and broke free. "Take the damn thing," he said, throwing the case — _hard_ — to Nightwing. He turned on his heel and left.

Not a week later, Jason returned to his apartment, with all the necessities for a birthday bash of one, to find a box covered in red wrapping paper and a huge silver bow on top, just sitting on his kitchen counter. He strained his ears for any ticking sounds; hearing none, he slowly approached the box and read the label. In a neat, precise hand read "For my kid brother. Enjoy."

Curiosity won over Jason's irritation. He tore off the paper and beheld, in all its glory, that new console. And — by God! — he smiled.


End file.
